Trading My Mob Husband For Power

Everyone in Miami knows that Romans wife is terrified of the dark, sickened by the sight of blood, and wouldn't survive three days without him.

Even Roman himself believed it. After we got married, he stepped out on me dozens of times, never once worried that I might actually leave.

Just like right now. I had just found a pair of bloody lace panties tucked into the passenger side of his Mercedes.

Roman barely glanced at them. He gave a careless, easy laugh. "The new girl at the club just lost her cherry. We played a little rough. Don't sweat it."

This time, I didn't scream. I didn't throw a hysterical fit like I used to.

Instead, I simply nodded, my face a mask of calm. "Understood."

His hand suddenly shot out, his fingers locking around my wrist like a vice. His voice dropped, thick with suppressed tension. "Something's wrong with you, Diana. Why aren't you mad?"

I looked at him and smiled.

We had been married for three years. He had no idea that I had already taken a lover of my owna wild, obedient boy who actually listened to me. He just didn't know it yet.

Don't come over tonight. Roman's back.

A second later, the screen lit up with a GIF of a cartoon dog crying its eyes out.

I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth. But when I looked up, I collided straight into Roman's dark, brooding stare. Only then did I realize how suffocatingly quiet the car had become.

I locked my phone and slipped it away, my tone entirely indifferent. "Did you need something?"

"You've been off lately," he said, his eyes drilling into me.

I paused.

This wasn't the first time one of his girls had left a calling card. The last one had stuffed a pair of shredded stockings into the breast pocket of Roman's bespoke suit.

Back then, I had lost my mind. I tore through the house, shattering every piece of glass and porcelain I could get my hands on, sobbing and screaming at him until my throat bled.

All it earned me was a cold, disdainful look. Have some goddamn dignity, Diana, he had sneered. You're the First Lady of this syndicate. Stop acting like a rabid dog.

Now, I could finally do exactly what he asked. I could sit here, perfectly serene, in the face of his endless rotation of women.

I offered him a thin smile. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Roman's face hardened, a sudden chill rolling off him. His words came out sharp and barbed. "Lexi is uninhibited. Shes wild, and she gets creative in bed. It's fun."

He raised an eyebrow, looking down at me with a patronizing smirk. "You could learn a thing or two from her, babe. Stop being so damn rigid all the time. Who knows? If you loosen up, maybe I'll feel like spending a few more nights at home."

"Don't do me any favors," I said, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window and closing my eyes.

Roman hadn't stepped foot in our Coral Gables mansion in a month. He had taken Lexi to the Swiss Alps, calling it a much-needed "mental health break."

They had been excruciatingly loud about it. His lieutenants had practically tripped over themselves to circulate photos of the happy couple on yachts and ski lifts, making sure the images made their rounds through our social circles. I had become the brightest, most pathetic punchline in Miami.

Now, he stood in the doorway of our master bedroom, his brow furrowed as he took in the completely overhauled space.

The heavy, dark silk sheets he loved were gone. The custom gold-plated Colt he kept on the nightstand to mark his territory was missing. There wasn't a single trace of his existence left in the room.

"Where is my stuff?"

"Cleared out."

Roman whipped his head around. "What did you say?"

He stared at me, then suddenly let out a soft chuckle, his tone dropping into something coaxing and sweet. "Diana, look, I know I crossed a line this time. You're pissed, right?"

"Come on, I'm home now, aren't I? I came back to keep you company."

"I even brought you a gift."

He tossed a velvet box onto the glass coffee table and turned to head into the master bath.

When he walked back out, roughly towel-drying his hair, he paused. "That cologne I always use... when did you change it?"

I blinked, taking a moment to remember. Nico had changed it. The little wolf hated the heavy, suffocating stench of gunpowder and stale cigars that always lingered in the bathroom. He had taken it upon himself to swap it out for something crisp, sharp, and smelling of winter cedar.

The scent of that cedar washed over me as Roman stepped up from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist and intentionally burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"God, I missed you, babe..."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

The bruises Nico had left on my collarbone last night hadn't faded yet. If Roman's lips trailed down just an inch, he would see them.

I twisted hard, shoving him away. "I'm not Lexi. If you need to get your rocks off, go back to the club and find her."

Roman stumbled back a step. When he caught his balance, his face was absolutely livid. His voice hissed through his teeth. "You're never going to let this go, are you?"

"So I took her on a trip for a few days. Have I never taken you anywhere? Is this really necessary?"

I looked him dead in the eyes, my voice flat and dead. "It is, Roman. Because I think you're filthy."

The veins in his neck popped. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

He snatched his suit jacket off the armchair. "I try to give you an inch, and you throw it in my face! Don't you dare come begging me to come back!"

The front door slammed with enough force to shake the walls.

I walked over to the coffee table and picked up the velvet box. Only then did it registertoday was our three-year anniversary.

Inside was a miniature, diamond-studded derringer. The grip was engraved with a unique serial number. One of only five in the world.

My lips curled into a bitter line.

How thoughtful of him. Taking his mistress on a luxury vacation, but still remembering to toss a shiny toy my way to keep my mouth shut.

My phone lit up. A picture from Lexi.

She was leaning heavily against a slot machine in a neon-drenched casino in Nassau, her dress slipping off her shoulder. Romans hand was firmly planted on her waist.

You just don't know how to keep your man, do you, Mrs. Reyes? she wrote. I practically had to beg the Boss to go home and check on you.

Late that night, the shrill ring of my phone sliced through the dark.

I answered, greeted by Romans heavily slurred voice. "Babe... babe... come get me..."

I was about to hang up when a strangers voice cut in. "Mrs. Reyes? The Boss got way too hammered at our place, and we're closing up. Could you..."

I rattled off a phone number from memory.

"Call Lexi. I'm busy."

This wasn't the first time this had happened.

There was a night years ago when I was burning up with a 102-degree fever. I had driven myself across the city to drag him out of a club he was running.

But when I got there, he had shoved me away. Blind drunk, he had demanded Lexi.

I don't want you, he had slurred. I want Lexi.

He had told me to stop getting in his way. I had stumbled backward, my hand catching the sharp edge of the car door. The blood had welled up instantly, dripping onto the asphalt.

But the sting on my hand was nothing compared to the sensation of my chest being hollowed out with a blunt knife.

Pulling myself back to the present, I glanced down at the faint, silver scar on the back of my hand. Flesh heals. And eventually, so does the heart. It just stops hurting altogether.

I must have drifted off, because I was jolted awake again by the phone.

This time, it was a woman. She sounded frantic. "Are you the wife of this drunk lunatic? Your husband has been pounding on my front door for twenty minutes! Come get him right now, or I'm calling the cops!"

"What?"

She gave me an address, and I sat in bed, frozen for a long moment.

Roman, blackout drunk, had somehow stumbled his way back to the rotting apartment complex in Overtown. It was the hellhole we used to live in back when we had absolutely nothing.

I had to apologize profusely to the terrified woman before I could finally haul Roman's dead weight out of the peeling hallway. He reeked of cheap whiskey and sweat, completely delirious.

"Diana..." he mumbled into my shoulder. "Did the boys give you a hard time collecting the books today...? You must be so tired..."

It had been years since I heard him speak to me like that.

With a jarring ache, I realized he was so drunk he thought we were still kids, just starting out in the syndicate.

Back then, we were desperately poor. We squeezed into a sweltering, roach-infested room, counting every single penny. I would sit up late at the back of the underground casinos, cooking the books until my eyes blurred. And no matter how late it was, even if he had just finished breaking someone's legs and was covered in blood, he would always walk the long way around the block just to walk me home.

He used to hold me, his eyes red and exhausted, pressing his forehead to mine. He swore up and down that one day, hed put me in a mansion on the water. That he would make me the most respected woman in the city.

A sudden, sharp sting hit the back of my nose.

I ducked my head, quickly trying to wipe my eyes, but a hand reached up before I could.

Roman lifted his hand and clumsily brushed his thumb beneath my eye. His voice cracked, sounding like a wounded little boy.

"Babe, why aren't you mad at me anymore...? Why did you wash my scent away...?"

"Why don't you fight with Lexi...?"

"You've changed..."

I looked down at the man who was completely out of his mind, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a strange, detached peace. "Because I'm tired, Roman."

He didn't seem to hear me. He suddenly pushed out of my grip and fumbled in his coat pocket, pulling something out and guarding it against his chest like a treasure.

Under the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamp, I saw what it was. A crushed, battered cardboard pastry box. Inside was a slice of devil's food cake.

It was from the crumbling old bakery on the corner. My favorite.

I thought he had forgotten.

Truth be told, the very first time I realized something was wrong with our marriage, it was over a pastry, too.

Lexi wasn't his first.

The first time I discovered he was cheating was on the anniversary of my father's death. In our world, the Coalition strictly observes these days of respect. As the Boss and his wife, we were supposed to light the incense and honor the altar together.

I had set up the memorial room, dressing in a solemn black dress, and waited for him to come home.

I waited from the afternoon until the dead of night. When he finally walked through the door and saw the candles burning, he froze. He had completely forgotten what day it was.

A flash of guilt crossed his face. Desperate to cover it up, he shoved a bakery box into my handsa peace offering he had just picked up from whichever woman's bed he had crawled out of.

He didn't even read the label on the box. It was a strawberry tart.

I am deathly allergic to strawberries. One bite could send me into anaphylactic shock.

In that moment, a woman's intuition is sharper than any blade.

I stood up slowly and reached out, hooking my finger around the top buttons of his dress shirt and ripping them open.

Right below his collarbone, glaring up at me in the dim light, was a fresh, deep purple bruise. It had teeth marks.

It felt like a bomb went off in my skull. The entire world just gave way beneath my feet.

I destroyed the altar. I smashed the porcelain plates, the glasses, everything I could lift. I screamed at him, tears blinding me. I asked him how he could face my dead father. How he could face the years I spent cooking his ledgers, the bullets I took meant for him.

I slapped him. Again and again, until my palms were bruised.

And what did Roman do?

He dropped to his knees in front of my father's portrait and begged me to forgive him.

After that, I became a paranoid wreck. I checked every phone call. I smelled the collar of every jacket he owned. He grew increasingly annoyed, increasingly suffocated, until he just stopped coming home altogether.

Then came Lexi.

It was the same cycle. The screaming, the crying, the shattered glass.

But the difference was, this time, Roman didn't drop to his knees.

He stood there, slowly crushing his cigar into the crystal ashtray, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "Let me make this perfectly clear, Diana. I'm not cutting Lexi off. I like her. She knows her place."

"You sit here and play the good First Lady. You get the status, you get the bank accounts, you get everything you're entitled to. Nothing changes."

My chest felt like it was being ripped open with a crowbar. I couldn't breathe.

Through a broken, gravelly voice, I whispered, "Roman... let's just get a divorce."

His head snapped up, his eyes suddenly burning with a toxic, violent light. "Divorce? You're out of your goddamn mind."

"You married into this life. You swore the oath in blood. The only way you leave this family is in a body bag. There's no walking away. Don't even entertain the thought."

"Your little brother is still running product for me down at the docks, isn't he? Unless you want him feeding the fishes in the bay, you will shut your mouth and endure it."

My little brother had just started working for him. His life was entirely in Roman's hands. All the contacts and leverage my father had left me had been systematically swallowed up by Roman's empire years ago.

I had built the cage he was using to lock me in.

Every day after that was pure purgatory.

I watched him parade Lexi around the VIP rooms and the underground casinos, letting his enforcers call her "Mrs. Reyes." I watched them walk in and out of rooms like husband and wife, while I was relegated to the shadows, a dirty secret in my own home.

I started swallowing handfuls of sleeping pills just to get a few hours of dead air, only to spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling until the sun came up.

Until one afternoon, during a bloody dispute at the shipyards, I purposefully let my focus slip. A rival swung a blade, tearing a deep, jagged gash down my forearm.

When Roman found out, he didn't pull me into his arms. He didn't ask if I was okay. He backhanded me across the face and screamed at me for being careless and trying to get myself killed.

That slap finally woke me up.

I thought, Why?

He was the one who broke us. Why was I paying for it with my blood?

If Roman wouldn't give me a clean exit, I would carve one out myself.

It was right around that time that I used a ghost channel in our weapons supply line and made contact with Nico.

The kid was smarter than Roman. Sweeter. And most importantly, whatever I said, he did.

Now, Roman and I were truly equals. We both had our little playthings on the side.

I left Roman to sleep on the freezing concrete floor of that rotting apartment in Overtown.

The next morning, he cornered me in the narrow stairwell, his face thunderous. "Why didn't you pick me up last night? Why did you make Lexi do it?"

"Why not?" I said, deadpan. "You love her, don't you?"

The words struck a match to a powder keg.

He lunged, grabbing my jaw and kissing mehard, bruising, desperate. He tasted like stale liquor and violent rage.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be, Diana," he growled against my mouth, his teeth grazing my lip. "You're not supposed to look at me like I'm dead!"

"Why aren't you fighting me anymore?!"

I bit down, hard. The sharp, metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth.

"Roman," I laughed, breathless and mocking. "You are so pathetic."

He stared at me, a dark, murderous shadow crossing his face. Before he turned to leave, he threw a warning over his shoulder: "You're going to regret this, Diana."

The look in his eye made my stomach drop.

But I never could have predicted how fast his retaliation would come.

Two days later, my phone buzzed. A text from Lexi. Attached was a photo.

It was taken inside my father's memorial room.

Roman said it's especially thrilling to do it in here, the text read.

A high-pitched ringing pierced my ears. The world tilted on its axis, black spots dancing in my vision. My knees nearly buckled.

Pure, unadulterated fury obliterated whatever was left of my sanity.

That was my father's sanctuary! How could he!

How dare he bring that trash into that room, and do that...

I drove back to the Coral Gables estate like a madwoman, my tires screeching as I tore up the driveway. I sprinted through the halls and shoved open the heavy oak doors of the memorial room.

The scene in front of me turned my blood to ice. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper.

The gold silk cloth on the altar had been dragged down. Lexi was practically naked, draped across the mahogany table, and Roman was right behind her. The brass incense burner had been knocked to the floor, white ash scattered over the Persian rug.

Seeing me standing in the doorway, Roman casually pushed Lexi away and pulled his clothes straight. A cruel, mocking smirk twisted his lips. "What's the matter? Is this too much for you?"

My nails dug so hard into my palms that the pain was the only thing keeping me upright.

My voice was a ragged whisper, dragged over broken glass. "Get. Out."

Lexi slid off the altar, taking her sweet time. As she moved, her fingers purposefully trailed over my father's urn.

Suddenly, she snatched up the antique gold pocket watch resting beside itthe only piece of my father I had leftand hurled it onto the marble floor!

The glass shattered, the metal casing crunching violently.

"Oops," she giggled, looking up at me with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Butterfingers. Looks like it's broken."

"You dead bitch!"

Every thread of my restraint snapped.

I vaulted forward, burying my hands into her bleached blonde hair. She shrieked, but I didn't stop. I swung, slapping her across the face with every ounce of strength I had in my body.

"Are you insane, Diana?!"

A blinding pain exploded in my ribs. Roman had kicked me. The force sent me flying backward, my spine colliding sickeningly with the sharp edge of a heavy rosewood chair. I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, unable to push myself up.

Roman didn't even look at me. He rushed to Lexi, wrapping his arms around her, his face a portrait of tender concern.

Then he turned his head and glared at me, his eyes blazing with fury. "You are out of your goddamn mind! It's just a cheap piece of metal! Are you kidding me?"

"Ive let you get away with too much lately!"

My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I clamped my jaw shut, refusing to let them fall, even as my entire body shook uncontrollably.

Roman marched over, grabbed me by the collar, and began dragging me toward the back of the basementtoward the steel, windowless vault they used to break rats and traitors.

"What are you doing! Let me go!" A primal terror clawed at my throat. I thrashed wildly.

When he threw me inside and the heavy steel door slammed shut with a definitive clang, cutting off the last sliver of light, absolute, paralyzing panic seized my chest.

I am terrified of the dark.

Years ago, a rival cartel had kidnapped me. They locked me in a shipping container at the bottom of the docks for three days and three nights.

It left me permanently scarred.

When Roman finally found me back then, he held my violently shaking body and swore to God that he would never, ever let me be alone in the dark again.

Now, he was using it to break me.

"Take some time in there and think about what you did," his muffled, icy voice bled through the steel door. "When you're ready to apologize, I'll let you out."

My screams and my fists pounding against the metal were entirely swallowed by the suffocating black void.

I pressed my back against the freezing steel and slowly slid to the floor, my body seizing with violent tremors.

Fat tears hit the dusty floor.

I slammed my fists against the door, my voice shattering into pathetic, ragged gasps. "Roman... please... open the door..."

"Let me out..."

"I'm sorry..."

I weakly banged my head against the metal. The skin on my forehead split, and warm blood trickled down my temple, sticky and sickening.

From the other side of the door, I could hear Lexi's simpering voice, and Roman's low, amused chuckle.

"Boss, you aren't going to go soft on her, are you?"

Roman's tone was ice-cold. "No. I've spoiled her too much lately."

"It's about time she learned her place."

I dug my fingertips into the microscopic gap at the bottom of the door, tearing my nails until they splintered and bled.

With violently trembling hands, I reached into the lining of my skirt and pulled out the micro-transmitter I kept sewn in. I pressed the single emergency button.

Nico. Save me.

I don't know how much time passed. Maybe minutes. Maybe lifetimes.

The heavy steel door was suddenly violently ripped open from the outside.

A blinding flashlight beam cut through the black. I threw my bloody hands up to shield my eyes.

Roman stood in the doorway, back-lit, staring down at me like a god examining a crushed insect.

"Diana. Do you know what you did wrong now?"

The harsh light forced involuntary tears down my cheeks.

I slowly lowered my hands. I looked up at him, my voice so hoarse and broken it didn't even sound like me.

"Roman. I want a divorce."

Roman's brow furrowed in irritation. "I told you, that's not..."

"I'm sleeping with someone else," I cut him off.

The words died in Roman's throat.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently. The veins at his temples began to pulse.

It was the look he got right before he murdered someone.

"Say that to me again," he whispered. The quietness of his voice was terrifying.